Franziska's Memoirs
by DonCorneo
Summary: Franziska von Karma always gets what she wants. See her recount her conquests in a series of third-person memoirs. Not for kiddies.
1. Miles Edgeworth

**Author's Note:**  
>This is a very unusual story for me and I experimented with a few things that might even be considered "wrong" from a writing standpoint. It's written in first-person, but uses third-person pronouns, and since my stories tend to be very dialogue-heavy, this time there is no dialogue whatsoever. While you should think of it as a sort of writing experiment, I do hope you enjoy it for its own merits.<p>

* * *

><p>Her name was Franziska von Karma.<p>

She was perfection. Genius prosecutor, trained overseas, making grown men cry since she was old enough to speak. The crushing pressure of living up to her father Manfred von Karma's legacy had compressed her into a harsh, violent ball of confidence and aggression. In her lifetime, she had only ever encountered a handful of people that stood up to her, and even fewer that got away with it.

From guilty verdicts to confessions to sexual favors, Franziska always, _always_ got what she wanted.

Franziska had been a prosecutor since thirteen and sexually active since twelve. Her first conquest had been her "brother" Miles Edgeworth, who her father had so graciously welcomed into their home following the death of his father, Gregory Edgeworth.

Miles had never seen it coming. She kicked in his bedroom door to find him buried in paperwork; at the time, he was studying to become a prosecutor, and growing closer and closer to taking on his first case. Determined not to fall behind, young Franziska had been sneaking into his room every night and going over his papers, committing their contents to memory. Manfred took notice of her interest in law and agreed to send her overseas to train where he had, among the best prosecutors in Germany.

With her departure rapidly approaching, that night had been her last oppurtunity to claim what was hers. She put her fists at her hips as the door crashed into the wall. Miles looked up at her, furious, and made her aware of just how busy he was. She made him aware of just how little she cared.

She pinned him to the carpet; he resisted, kicking her away, but after a few lashes across the face with her riding crop, his writhing and wriggling quieted considerably. She unbuttoned his pants and yanked them off of his pale legs.

Franziska never tackled any obstacle unprepared. For months prior, when she hadn't been perusing Miles's paperwork or tending to her own homework, she had been carefully studying dozens, if not hundreds, of pornographic videos. She had her plan of attack intricately mapped out, but was a bit surprised to discover that it hadn't gone quite as smoothly as she had hoped.

The first phase played out alright, and Miles became increasingly erect as she took his member into her mouth. She was careful to take it as far into her throat as she could without activating the gag reflex; she slid its length between her pursed lips a few times, rather enjoying the sensation. She took it in her fist, pumping its base as she bobbed onto its head. A mere few licks and slurps later, he had exploded onto her face just as she had hoped. It was pleasant and warm, and she shot him an evil smile as it slipped down her cheeks.

But things went slightly awry as she began lowering herself onto his semi-erect penis. Almost immediately, she felt pressure inside her, as if it wouldn't go any further. Surely there was a mistake. The women in the videos could take on much more than Miles. What was she doing wrong?

She bounced onto him, forcing it deeper inside, and felt a horrible, sharp pain; it was like somebody had snapped a rubberband against her insides. In spite of herself, she cried out. Miles grew worried and asked if she was all right, but Franziska refused to show even an ounce of weakness. What a foolishly foolish fool. Of course she was all right. She was Franziska von Karma! She was more than capable of handling a weakling like Miles. She wasn't hurt at all. She bounced onto him a few more times, feigning a smile, hiding her pain and her horror as best she could. She smiled up at the ceiling, pretending not to notice that she was bleeding.

It was a few years and a few dozen men later when she finally discovered why this had only happened to her once.

Miles, almost 20, was awfully big for her in her young state, but dammit, Franziska never let anybody tell her she was too young for anything. She put both hands on his flat stomach and pushed herself up and down, feeling his penis fill her completely. In due time, the pain melted away and she felt a pleasant heat spread through her hips. Her concerns that she had severely injured herself quickly disappeared, and her eyes widened with anticipation. She knew something was happening, but had no idea what to expect. When she felt his warm seed filling her, it had felt so good that she thought for a moment it had been her own release. It wasn't until a few seconds later that she discovered for the first time what an orgasm felt like. It was like nothing she had ever experienced. Her spine arched and her thighs shook uncontrollably as she clamped down tightly on her brother's limp length. She found herself having to fight back moans; it was no wonder why the women in those videos made such frequent "ohs" and "ahs." She continued sitting atop his member, staring at the ceiling, for a few minutes as she caught her breath and got her wits about her. When she had sufficiently cooled down, she gathered her things and left without a word, slamming his door behind her.

Back in her own bedroom, she leaned against her door and fell into a sitting position. By now, she had completely forgotten about that sharp pain she had felt. All that was on her mind was how good it felt to have finally gotten this over with. And how good it had actually felt. She laughed once to herself and went to bed, brushing her teeth and cleaning up the small amount of blood that lingered on her.


	2. Calisto Yew

The next morning, Franziska boarded a plane to Germany, not bothering to say goodbye to her "brother." She took over the entire law school. It was nothing short of remarkable. Young Fran had such a knack for prosecuting that the men in her class refused to participate in class debates with her. She rapidly scaled the ranks while abroad, being hailed as a prosecuting prodigy. A year later, when her dream occupation was just within her grasp, she briefly returned home for holiday only to be met with depressing news.

To her great disappointment, Miles was officially a prosecutor now, and beginning his first case; a crucial witness and prosecutor had been murdered in the courthouse itself during a recess. Manfred von Karma had placed Miles in charge of the investigation, but Franziska managed to force her way into the proceedings. She could use the practice, sure, but that wasn't what made her so adamant about taking the case. Mostly, she was just livid that Miles had beat her to the punch. She had tried so hard to surpass her brother, to become a prosecutor before he could. Just as she neared her goal, he succeeded, leaving her behind yet again. It was infuriating. She wanted to prove to her father (and, though she'd never admit it, to herself) that she was more than capable of doing anything Edgeworth could do. She was perfect.

And, to be honest, she had yet a third motive. Calisto Yew, the defense attorney for the scheduled trial and a witness in this case, was a tall, slender, raven-haired woman with pouty lips and adorable freckles. Franziska had the woman in her sights, and Franziska always got what she wanted.

In her time abroad, she had hardly given up studying pornography. She found herself fascinated by the women in the videos just as often as the men. Franziska had long since reached a point where labels like "male" or "female" meant nothing to her; anybody that looked like they would be fun to dominate was automatically arousing to her. So naturally, Ms. Yew, with her slender frame, chronic fits of laughter, and prominent freckles, seemed like a perfect target.

She had slipped out while Miles was arguing with the detective in charge, pulling a confused Ms. Yew into the women's restroom by her wrist. She threw the woman against one of the stalls, silencing her objections with a kiss. She slid her knee between the woman's thighs, forcing it against her short skirt. Calisto was surprisingly quick to comply, returning the kiss in earnest, tentatively cupping Franziska's young behind.

She threw open the door and shoved the woman into the stall, forcing her onto the toilet seat. Slamming the door behind her, she hiked up her skirt and straddled her target, grinding their labia together through their panties. What followed was a battle for dominance; Ms. Yew seemed insistent on controlling young Fran, guiding her nimble hands, instructing her pace, attacking her tiny breasts with gentle nibbles. Franziska was having none of it. She wrenched Calisto's hand away from her wrist, slapping the woman hard across the face. The sound of skin on skin echoed throughout the tile bathroom.

They stared each other down. Calisto lowered her head, peering into the girl's soul, and smiled; she had surrendered control. Franziska ran the show from there out, doing all manner of things to the woman. She yanked on her large earrings, drawing out tiny moans. She dug her fingernails into her soft breasts, leaving small white scratches in them. She bit the woman's lower lip and tugged on it. Through it all, Ms. Yew just grinned at her and took it. Soon enough, the feel of her silk panties scraping against her clitoris drove her over the abyss, and a small puddle formed in the girl's underwear.

As a sort of "thank you" for allowing Franziska the reigns, the young dominatrix knelt down on the tile floor (only after placing a seat cover down on it) and slid Ms. Yew's frilly panties off her legs. She attacked the woman's delicate folds with her tongue, doing her best to mimic the women in the videos she'd seen. The taste was not at all what she had expected: not exactly good, but not exactly bad either. Her tongue made short laps around Calisto's landmarks; a few swipes across her clitoris, a few slow licks up her labium, some horizontal swishes deep inside, and repeat. She continued this treatment for a good while before she felt Calisto's fingers running through her long, blue-ish grey hair. By then, her own panties were around her knees and her fingers curled around the handle of her riding crop, which plunged in and out of her slit. It wasn't long before Ms. Yew exhaled a warm, satisfied sigh and unleashed a modest orgasm into Franziska's young mouth. She smiled and finished herself off.

As it turned out, Calisto Yew was not only the thief on trial earlier, but also the murderer of the two victims found in the courthouse. Later that day, she had pulled a gun on Miles right in the middle of the courtoom and made her escape.

The knowledge that she had so thoroughly dominated a murderer even at the age of thirteen got Franziska soaking wet, and continued to serve as masturbatory fodder for years to come.


	3. Lotta Hart

She began her career as a prosecutor, and though many laughed at her at first, she maintained a condescending scowl throughout all of her proceedings; it soon became apparent that young Franziska von Karma, the youngest prosecuting attorney to ever practice in Germany, and perhaps anywhere, was no joke. She went undefeated for years, winning case after case, continuing her studies into law and pornography until she was an unrivaled expert of both. She upgraded her riding crop for a leather whip, one which she used just as often to beat the truth out of witnesses as she did to spur her subs to eat her out with more vigor. Throughout the next five years, she slept with all manner of prosecutors, witnesses, rival defense attorneys, and even murderers.

One day, though, when she was 18, she learned that her father's perfect record was no longer perfect. Shocked, she flung open the newspaper and buried her eyes in the article.

Ah.

An American defense attorney had managed to discover the truth about what happened to Gregory Edgeworth.

A tear welled in her eye. Miles had told her once about his recurring nightmare, of that day in the elevator, of throwing the gun and hearing a chilling scream. She had also heard from her papa that he had been in the court records room that day when the power went out. With that knowledge, she always had a theory of what really happened, but was simultaneously too terrified to ask her father and too unsure of her theory to tell Miles. It turned out what she had peiced together was not far from the truth; on the day of the courthouse earthquake, the day of DL-6, Manfred von Karma had killed Gregory Edgeworth in cold blood.

Even though she had always sort of known it, it was still deeply saddening to learn that it was true. She stared at the words "death sentence" so intensely that she could see the individual drops of ink that made them up.

But wait. Buried at the very end of the article was a short sentence about Miles Edgeworth. Apparently, the same American defense attorney who had shattered her father's name had also defeated Miles in court, breaking his perfect record as well. Miles Edgeworth, who had disappeared, left behind only the words, "Miles Edgeworth chooses death."

It fell entirely on her, then, to uphold the perfection of the von Karma bloodline. It was already pressure enough to live up to her father, but now she had to single-handedly uphold the perfection of her lineage. The pressure was simply unbearable, pushing down on her from all sides. She folded the paper and slid it across the table, slumping into her seat. Just then, for the first time in her life, Franziska von Karma burst into tears.

She decided that the best way to prove just how perfect she was would be to crush this American, this Phoenix Wright, beneath her heel. If this man would bow to her in court, she would finally have surpassed Miles. She would be the best for once, instead of him. She flew to America and took up the first case she could find with Phoenix Wright behind the defense's bench.

A spirit medium had killed a doctor during a channeling. It was a simple enough case; there were only two of them in the room during the murder. And channeling spirits? She didn't even believe in such foolishly foolish drivel anyway. A fat lot of good that had done to find Gregory Edgeworth's killer. It would be a breeze.

During her investigation of the case, she took it upon herself to peek in on one of the defendant's sessions with her lawyer in detention. She licked her lips; the defendant was a short, slender girl, about her age, who appeared as meek and submissive as they come. She watched for a while and imagined forcing herself on the girl, when, to her great surprise, the meek young medium transformed in a flash into a completely different person. She blinked a few times, rubbing her eyes to make sure she wasn't hallucinating.

Nope. Sitting in the cell, wearing the defendant's clothes and the defendant's hairstyle, was a tall, buxom woman with a small mole on her cheek. She was _stunning_, and her sultry voice and half-lidded eyes sent shivers down Franziska's spine. The spiky-haired lawyer didn't seem to be fazed. What on earth just happened? Was this really a spirit being channeled? It couldn't be. Could it? She fumbled through her purse and snapped a quick photo with her cameraphone, thinking it might come in handy in more ways than one.

Next, she had to question a crucial witness who had snapped a photo of the scene of the crime. For some time now Franziska had been in the habit of covertly disconnecting the security cameras as she interrogated witnesses. There were a few reasons for this, the first of which being that her methods could be considered a bit... extreme. She had a bit of a penchant for whipping the truth out of people that had repeatedly landed her in some mild trouble with her superiors. But also, she was never sure when she would find a particularly attractive witness that she might want to fool around with. As she stepped into the dimly lit interrogation room to meet the witness for the first time, she had no idea what she was in for. Lotta Hart was a talkative southern belle with a bright orange afro and a terrible attitude. This woman was able to turn every question that left Franziska's mouth into some sort of personal attack on her heritage or intelligence. What's more, after only five minutes of questioning, Franziska knew far, far too much about this woman's life and far, far too little about the case itself. She had asked about the day of the murder and got the name of the college Ms. Hart had attended. She asked about the condition of the scene as she entered it and got the last four jobs Ms. Hart had held. It was quickly getting old. She needed a way to shut her up, and took the first option that came to mind.

Unfortunately, Lotta didn't quiet down a bit as Franziska's tongue invaded her mouth; her raving and ranting was only replaced by high-pitched mumbling as she tried to push Ms. von Karma away. Franziska, of course, _loved_ when they resisted, and pushed herself onto Ms. Hart with that much more vigor. She pushed so hard, in fact, that the wooden chair the woman had been sitting on toppled to the metal floor with a _clang_. Lotta writhed and kicked beneath her, but there wasn't much she could do in this position. Franziska had already kicked off her panties and straddled Lotta's face, pressing her shaved cunny right into the witness's mouth. A _crack_ of the whip and a few violent tugs at Ms. Hart's curly red afro was all it took to get her to comply.

She was actually quite good at it. Franziska suspected she had done this before, perhaps as a drunken experiment at "Country U." She couldn't help but giggle to herself. Perhaps the name of this university was not spelled with an "o."

Franziska tilted her head back, cooing with delight as Lotta's nimble tongue diligently tended to her needs. She slipped both of her hands into the woman's red curls, twisting them around her fingers. As Lotta lovingly began painting her clitoris with saliva, Franziska decided that she had absolutely done this before. Probably with great frequency. There was a fire in her belly, and Lotta was fueling it, stroking it, building the flames higher and higher until unadulterated bliss cascaded out of her.

After Fran's shuddering orgasm left her, Lotta tried once more to crawl out from beneath this woman, but she would not allow it. Another _crack_ of the whip and Franziska's incessant grinding told Lotta to continue. She rolled her eyes and obeyed, lapping fervently at Franziska's folds until a second wave of release escaped her.

How Franziska wished it would have ended there. But the fiery southern belle just wouldn't let her hear the end of it, ranting and raving about how she deserved to be brought to orgasm as well, about how Franziska was acting just like a man by being so careless as to not finish her off (which, frankly, explained a lot), and about how the only other woman to have ever treated her so coldly was oh my God this woman never shut up. Franziska gave her a hard _crack_ of the whip, praying it would silence her incessant prattle. When even that failed, she rolled her eyes, kissed Lotta's lips tightly, and hastily undid the buttons of her capri pants, yanking them down around her ankles. At the core of the puzzle, behind the pink granny panties and wild, curly thicket of bright orange pubic hair, was a hungry vagina that, in spite of herself, Franziska had trouble resisting. She shoved Lotta to the floor and crawled on top of her; even as the wretched chatterbox kicked and screamed and writhed beneath her, she was able to use her whip to tie Ms. Lotta Hart's hands to the back of the chair they had toppled over.

As she straddled Ms. Hart and lifted her green sweater over her freckled breasts, she forced three of her fingers into the woman's entrance. That had shut her up. Three fingers soon became four, and as they craned deep inside of the warm, pink maw, Franziska dipped her thumb under Lotta's hood and traced circles around her red clitoris. She planted a series of kisses along Lotta's blushing chest and lifted her boring, yellowed bra to free her nipples.

The silence was delicious, and for minutes Franziska was content to simply service Lotta and revel in her speechless state. Unfortunately, all too quickly Lotta's quiet breathing and mild, contented moans began to make her horny, and she arrived at a point where she could no longer sit back and enjoy the silence.

Lotta briefly resumed her ranting and raving when Franziska swung around and plopped her bare cunny on Lotta's chin, but she quited down soon enough when Franziska's tongue entered her. They drank out of each other, digging their fingernails into the other's thighs, until they shared an orgasm. Leave it to Lotta to loudly announce her climax with enough hooting and hollering to wake the dead.

In the end, Franziska didn't manage to extract much information from the witness, but she was so high from Lotta's masterful cunnilingus that she simply shrugged it off, confident that what she _had_ managed to pull out of her would be enough.


	4. Morgan Fey and Ini Miney

Of course, the next day, she wished she had pressed Lotta harder. The trial was a distaster. She was convinced that it would be over in minutes, but that foolish scumbag slimeball Wright had managed to worm his foolish way throughout an entire trial day. It had been largely the fault of a bumbling, scraggly detective who had missed some important clues, so she decided to take the investigation into her own hands. That afternoon she stormed into the small, Japanese village where the murder had occurred, determined to find some clues, some information that would crush Wright's foolishly foolish spiky head into dust.

She found that and so much more in Morgan Fey, the defendant's aunt and an important witness. Morgan had her hair done up in an enormous, complex bun, and wore an elegant kimono embroidered with hundreds of Japanese characters. Though her raspy voice and slight wrinkles made her age no mystery, she was still fairly attractive - to Franziska, at least. Under the guise of "questioning," she dragged the woman into a side room where a red-haired girl was napping. Not deterred in the slightest or even caring if the girl woke up, Franziska began her attack on the witness, shoving her to the tatami-mat floor with a _thud _as she slid her own panties off. The older woman fought the good fight, attempting to shove her aggressor away and roll away, but Franziska straddled her and refused to let go. Morgan called to the girl for help, and the redhead awoke groggily, rubbing her eyes. Franziska paid her no mind. She was both surprised and delighted to discover that Morgan wore absolutely nothing beneath her kimono. She took one of Morgan's legs over her shoulder and forced their nude labia together, grinding like mad. Morgan had a tremendous, wild patch of thick, black pubic hair, which wasn't quite to her tastes, but she could more than deal with it. The redhead crawled over to them and attempted to pull Franziska away, but the perfect prosecutor simply pressed her gloved hand into the girl's face and shoved her hard. She fell to the floor, grunting in pain.

Franziska, in spite of herself, found the next few minutes hilarious. The redhead, who Morgan was calling Ini, tried desperately to wrestle her off of the woman. Franziska, meanwhile, was trying to wrestle Ini out of her clothes, all the while humping away at Morgan's crotch. She succeeded in getting the redhead's pants off, which she supposed was all that mattered, and threw her across the room by the hem of her sweater. Shocked by Franziska's strength, Ini stood up and made a break for the exit, likely to get help from the scruffy detective that had so magnificently screwed up in court today. Franziska lunged after her and grabbed her ankle, and she fell to the floor with another grunt. Satisfied, Franziska dragged her over as Morgan watched in horror. She yanked Ini's strawberry-print panties around her ankles and threw them over her shoulder. Lifting her into a sitting position, she forced Ini onto Morgan's chin, placing her more neatly trimmed crimson bush right on top of Morgan's mouth.

They were both stunned. Ini simply sat there for a moment, staring at Franziska's face, taking in what was happening.

It took some convincing, Franziska placing her hand on Ini's shoulder and pushing her body around in rhythm, a quick flash of her whip, but eventually they sort of got into it. Morgan, very slowly at first, began nervously tonguing Ini's entrance, gradually growing bolder as time went on. Yes, she only complied because she was being threatened at whip-point, but Franziska liked to think that Morgan wound up kind of enjoying Ini's flavor. She could certainly think of worse women to be stuck in this position with.

Eventually, she even began to gently mirror Franziska's pelvic thrusts, though her enthusiasm was nowhere near a match for the proud von Karma. Still, as more and more of their natural lubrication left them, their labia had an increasingly easy time sliding across each other; Franziska had done this with enough women by now to know when the other party was enjoying it as well.

Ini, meanwhile, was still thoroughly confused. Her body was piloting itself; she nervously allowed Franziska to kiss her on the mouth as a pair of gloved hands slipped up her orange sweater, pinching and pulling at her sensitive nipples. Even through her veneer of dumbstruck confusion, Franziska could spot signs of genuine arousal; her face, neck and breasts were all blushing furiously, her breath had grown heavy, and her pert, pink nipples were totally erect. To the surprise of no one present, Ini came well ahead of anybody else. To the surprise of all present, however, she fell asleep on Franziska immediately afterwards. As the dumbstruck von Karma lowered the ditzy redhead to the floor with a laugh, Morgan wiped her mouth off with her index finger. With her pinky, she pushed a lock of wet hair out of her eyes; sweat was beginning to undo her bun. The older woman crossed her arms, hiding her breasts from view. That would not do at all; Franziska took hold of her wrists and wrenched them apart, palming Morgan's breasts and allowing her fingers to sink into their flesh. She winced, though it seemed more out of arousal than out of pain. She refused to make eye contact all throughout, even as her face became slowly redder. Franziska was kneading her breasts now, and growing rougher and rougher with them. Her legs began to tremble, and she clapped her fingers over her mouth as she found her release. Morgan's class and modesty even as she came was delightfully entertaining to Franziska, and she continued grinding against the older woman's tired body until she reached her own climax.

Franziska got exactly what she needed: she got some incriminating testimony from both witnesses, and she got to take her mind off the trial for a bit. It was a new experience for her, dominating two women at once. She thoroughly enjoyed it, and Morgan and Ini didn't seem to fare too poorly either. Things were looking up.

That night, she lit some candles and used her whip to pleasure herself, ogling the picture she had snapped of that mysterious buxom woman in detention. She arched her back, making a sort of triangle shape atop her hotel bed as she plunged the handle of her whip into her behind and four of her fingers into her slit. It was not long before she climaxed and licked her fingers clean.


	5. Dick Gumshoe

Of course, the next day, her world fell to pieces around her. Somehow, that foolishly foolish fool had foolishly won the foolish trial. She couldn't begin to understand how. It turned out Ini was the murderer and Morgan was a co-conspirator, having framed her own neice for murder. Under any other circumstances, Franziska would have relished in the knowledge that her two latest conquests were vile, conniving murderers. But now it was the last thing on her mind.

Her perfect record. The perfect von Karma bloodline. Shattered by some foolish fool with foolishly spiky hair.

It didn't count.

The trial was fixed. It was all an elaborate hoax to make her look the fool. It simply didn't count!

She was ready to explode. If she didn't take her frustrations out on somebody soon, and in a big way, she was likely to be arrested for murder. She whipped Phoenix Wright into unconsciousness and stormed out of the courtroom.

She knew just who to go after. That foolish fool of a detective. He was the one who had cost her her perfect record.

Franziska von Karma entered the precinct like a tornado enters a small Kansas town. She waltzed over to the detective's desk, her heels _clacking_ on the tile floor with each step. The scruffy thing was shaking like a scared puppy. She exhaled a satisfied breath through her nose. She was going to enjoy this.

She took hold of the detective's ear, dragging him through the precinct as he howled and wailed and struggled to keep up. The laughter of his peers made Franziska moist. When they were out of sight, she threw him into a janitor's closet and set to work.

First, she yanked his filthy trenchcoat off and let it fall to the floor. He stared at her, bewildered, and began to whimper as she used her whip to tightly fasten his hands to the coatrack above their heads. She ripped his dress shirt open, popping the buttons off of it. He was slightly overweight, bearing the beginnings of a gut, but he was still fairly well-built. His chest was the hairiest she had ever seen, in person or in her porn collection. It was strangely arousing. She grinned in approval.

She yanked his pants and underwear off to find a twitching, half-erect penis. That wouldn't do at all. She wrapped her gloved fingers around it, beating it angrily. The detective let out a few pained objections, but she didn't let up. Slowly but surely, his member stood at attention. She knelt down, giving it a few licks up the shaft to help it along, and when it was finally at full mast, her lips curled into a smirk in spite of herself. He was certainly worthy of the name "Dick."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, so that he was supporting her entire weight. He struggled to keep himself balanced without tearing the coatrack off the walls. She pulled her panties to one side, not even bothering to remove them, and slid his slick manhood into her sopping slit. He was in a constant battle to stand as she bounced up and down onto him, unable to support her weight with his hands in any way. He had to make a sort of "S" shape with his body, leaning forward while bending over backwards. It looked remarkably uncomfortable.

Still, he voiced no complaints beyond scared whimpers, enjoying the tight embrace of Franziska's vagina. She would never pay him this compliment, but she was quite enjoying herself as well. His penis was just long enough and just thick enough that it didn't quite fit inside, which was exactly how she preferred it. He whined like a puppy as her fingernails drew long gashes into his shoulder blades and her six-inch heels dug into the back of his thighs.

When she saw his face turning red, something about the scruffy thing's whimpering melted her - just a tiny bit - and she decided to throw the dog a bone. As she slid off of his length and stood on her own feet, the detective exhaled a sigh of relief, finally able to relax his muscles a bit. Franziska turned around, pressing her breasts and elbows into the door. Her nipples were so erect they could feel the wood grain in the door - even through the fabric of her suit. She bent over and pulled her panties down so they hung between her knees. Scruffy seemed hesitant to continue, so she took it upon herself to sheath his member back inside her. She ground against him, going at it with machine-like precision so that little Gumshoe filled her to capacity exactly twice per second. The feel of her clothed breasts sliding against the closet door quickly got her red in the face; she turned her head and pressed her cheek to the wood grain. In spite of her best efforts, a small moan slipped out of her mouth. She actually found herself having to hold back to outlast him; she'd be damned if she let Mr. Scruffy Detective get the best of her.

Then Scruffy did something she hadn't expected.

He asked her where he should unleash his orgasm.

She had to laugh at such a ridiculous question. Did the proud prosecutor look like someone willing to dirty her clothes? She barked the order to come inside.

He mumbled the first half of a second question before she cut him off with a threat; if he ruined this for her by so much as speaking the word "pregnant," she would whip him into a thin paste. She repeated her orders, this time punctuating them with a few choice insults.

He went silent for a moment until a shrill whimper left him. She bit her lip as his thick, warm seed poured into her. With another moan, she threw her head back and clenched tightly around his length, greatly prolonging his orgasm as well as her own.

She pulled up her panties and collected her things, wheezing all throughout; how had this foolish fool been so competent?

She shot him a dirty look that slowly became a smile, but it quickly returned to contempt. She pressed her breasts against his jungle of a chest as she leaned forward to untie her whip from the coatrack, scowling all throughout. She relished the look of aroused confusion (or was it confused arousal?) on the detective's face like a high-class dessert.

He fell to the floor with a whimper and a thud. She took one last look at him, shirt ripped open and pants around his ankles, and left, slamming the closet door behind her.


	6. Regina Berry

She jumped on the next case that Phoenix Wright was heading; a famous circus performer accused of killing his ringleader. This time would surely be it. This time she would crush that fool Wright into a fine powder.

The case turned out to have a few holes in it. It had snowed the night of the murder, and the suspect left no footprints at the scene of the crime: the courtyard outside the performers' housing space. For that matter, nothing resembling a murder weapon had been found murder seemed like an impossible feat, but she was determined to find out every last minute detail of this case if it meant showing up that foolish lawyer. On the scene, she locked eyes with the lead detective - who else but Scruffy - and shot him a filthy smile. He turned red and looked away.

What he didn't know was that she had been running background checks on him. She'd discovered this particular bumbling detective had played a hand in assisting Wright in a number of cases in the past, and Franziska von Karma does not stand for insubordination. So, without his knowing, she had slipped a tracking device on him. Wherever he went, she would know where he was. She was in complete control.

During her investigation she paid a visit to the suspect in detention, one Max Galactica. He was foolishly gaudy and flamboyant, but even beneath the pounds of make-up, Franziska knew a handsome man when she saw one. She made a move on him, but the foolish fool rebuffed her advances, insisting on saving himself for some foolish wench named Regina. Even as she cursed him for rejecting a goddess like herself, she had to admire his dedication. She knew what she must do, though: find this Regina and break her.

Regina Berry, as it turned out, was the teenage daughter of the ringleader and had her own act at the circus as an animal tamer. Franziska was not easy to impress, but even her interest was piqued; Regina had gorgeous blond curls, a deliciously slender figure and child-bearing hips. Franziska was so entranced by the girl that she nearly missed a roaring tiger headed straight for her. Without thinking, she cracked him square in the neck with her whip. The tiger was stunned for a moment, then took off, whimpering. Regina, her jaw slack, stepped toward Franziska and expressed her amazement that she had so competently tamed one of her animals. They exchanged pleasantries, Franziska noticing a twinkle in Ms. Berry's eye that spoke of awe and respect. This would be even easier than she thought.

Not ten minutes later, Regina was without her leotard and sprawled out on a table in the break room, pressing her tongue against Franziska's labia. A stern whip guided the young thing all the way along, _cracking _her subtly when she took a misstep. Even though she didn't quite seem to know what she was doing, she was eager to learn and quick to follow instruction, and soon Franziska found herself exhaling heavily under such enthusiastic treatment. Regina looked up at her pleadingly, as if asking for permission for something. Franziska cocked her head to one side, nodding hesitantly.

She raised an eyebrow as she watched the girl tuck her elbows under her torso, supporting herself. To her great surprise, Regina curled her spine into a backwards "C", so that even as she continued lapping at Franziska's folds, her own bare vulva was now inches from Franziska's face.

Her eyes went wide. She glanced down to meet Regina's gaze, then shook her head in amazement and propped Regina's legs up on her shoulders. It was a gorgous vagina; completely hairless, obviously virginal, and so pink that it seemed to be glowing. Its lips were so wet and distended that it literally dripped with lubrication, reminding Franziska of a swimming pool just yearning for somebody to dive into it. She threw her tongue into its embrace, taking hold of Regina's thighs and clawing at them with her fingernails. They explored each other hungrily, thrusting and grunting, moaning and slurping. Franziska rest her neck against her shoulder, wrapping her thighs more tightly around the head of soft, golden curls. The circus girl's foolish flexibility really got her firing on all cylinders, and she just couldn't fight back sweet relief any longer; to her embarrassment, she climaxed well ahead of her young partner.

Not to be deterred, the proud von Karma forced Ms. Berry to the floor, pulling her creamy white thighs apart and slipping one of her legs beneath the girl. She took a tight hold of Regina's thigh and pulled her tight against her body, pressing their lower sets of lips together. With some instruction, they managed to get a good pace going, alternating pelvic thrusts against each other. When adorable little squeaks began filling the break room, Franziska decided to kick things up a notch; she arched her back forward a bit, pushing their pink clitorises into each other. Regina let out pained squeals as they slid across each other, squeals which Franziska drank up like nectar.

Their well-lubricated labia kissed each other for nearly ten minutes, but it felt like only seconds had passed by the time Regina launched into shuddering spasms and came hard against Franziska's soaked slit. By then, she was well on her way to her own release, giving her right breast repeated hard squeezes with her fingernails. She increased her pace and pulled the young blonde in for a tight hug, forcing their lips and their breasts together. Her tongue buzzed as she moaned into Regina's mouth, feeling a warm wave of relief spread through her.

In truth, Franziska could have gone on for hours; Regina Berry was stunningly beatiful, wonderfully flexible, and seemed genuinely entranced by her. But she had an investigation to get back to, so she only stuck around for two or three more orgasms.


	7. Dick Gumshoe, Part 2

The investigation was a disaster. The evidence that was left behind and the witness accounts all pointed to one conclusion: this murder could not possibly have taken place. And yet it did. Nothing added up, not one shred of evidence made sense. And worst of all, the only eyewitness, the world's most foolishly annoying fool of a clown, claimed to have seen the suspect simply up and fly away from the scene of the crime. She was certain that she had whipped him one too many times and driven him mad, but that was his story.

The next day in court, Franziska began to feel like her _life_ was a circus. She had pieced together the situation as best anyone could, but a case like this was a test of her sanity. She tried everything in her power to push the trial away from the foolish clown's foolish testimony, but naturally that foolishly foolish king of fools, Phoenix Wright, managed to weasel his way past every other explanation. As the clown took the stand, she braced herself for impending doom.

The clown's explanation did not go over well with the court. After all, everyone knows human beings can't simply fly away from a crime scene. The foolish clown's foolish acount made her entire investigation look foolish. At the very least, his statements confused the judge enough to grant another trial day.

Franziska von Karma was perfect. She was simply perfect. And she would not be losing this trial. There was absolutely no way. She returned to the circus to investigate every loose end, every nook and cranny. She wracked her brain to come up with some possible explanation as to how on earth that foolish clown could have possibly seen such a thing.

And she was getting nowhere.

She took a glance at her Scruffytracker™ to find him lingering at the crime scene. Livid, she marched there to scold him for wasting time. When she arrived, though, she found him talking to that foolish fool, Wright!

She whipped him into a paste and left him in a heap in the snow. He was playing dead, most likely, but she had a few choice words for Wright. She let him have it, but the fool had the nerve to foolishly mention that beating him in court wouldn't bring back her papa. As if that was even what this was about. He would see. She needn't dignify that with a response. Besides, he was to blame for her brother's disappearance. What right did he have to judge her?

When she had sufficiently chewed out the foolish lawyer, and sufficiently ogled his cute little assistant, she took Scruffy by the ear and dragged him behind the housing space. She forced him against the wall, and he fell into a sitting position with his back against it. She gave him the lecture of a lifetime, punctuating her sentences with a _crack_ of her whip. Kneeling down in the snow, grimacing as her pantyhose grew wet and began to cling to her, she shot him a scowl that could melt a glacier. Her left hand flew back to slap him, but it hesitated, hanging in the air for what Scruffy must have perceived as an eternity. Ultimately, she balled his collar into her fist and pulled him towards her, forcing their lips together. She hurriedly opened her jacket and pulled her lacy blue bra over her breasts, giving Scruffy his first look at their flawless, pale form. The cold winter air that assaulted them sent shivers throughout her, turning her nipples a bright pink and making them fully erect in seconds.

She was in no mood for foreplay, and as she pushed aside her panties and lowered herself onto his stiffening manhood, she saw in her peripheral vision a glimpse of Wright's topknotted assistant peeking around the side of the housing unit. When she was sure Wright himself was nowhere to be seen, she looked over at the girl and winked. The young medium blushed furiously and scurried off.

As she continued bouncing onto Scruffy's length, she imagined what the girl had seen; the proud prosecutor Franziska von Karma, boobs out, exhaling heavily, sitting in Gumshoe's lap, completely unashamed. She laughed to herself, shaking her head, and made a mental note to make personally sure that the girl spoke a word of this to no one.

Mr. Scruffy Detective was arousing to her on so many levels. For his huge stature, he was so meek and so easily dominated. His rugged, unsophisticated appearance was also an odd turn-on; there was something about the union of a goddess and an everyman that reminded her of her unparalled pornography collection and really got her fired up. And then there was her utter contempt for the man, which made this whole tryst that much more taboo, and that much more appetizing. Sex and aggression are so closely linked, after all.

She took her frustrations out on the poor man in the worst way, grinding against his manhood with such frenzy that wild animals would have been jealous. She clawed his dress shirt open, ruining a second set of buttons, and ran her fingers through his chest fur. In the heat of the moment, a compliment somehow left her lips, and she couldn't silence herself before she blurted out that he should seek a job in the field of pornography.

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and saw a small smile pierce Scruffy's foolish face. Livid, she slapped him hard across the face, making his cheek as red as her own and snapping his expression straight back to the realm of horror. Without slowing her hip gyrations in any way, she took his lapels between her clenched fists and pulled him towards her, pressing their foreheads together. She stared into his soul, baring her teeth, wearing a face that would put the fear of God into anyone, and made it abundantly clear that no such compliment was ever paid. Horrified, Scruffy nodded at a mile a minute, whimpering like the scared puppy that he was.

It felt so good to be in control.

In no time, Scruffy meekly began the question of where to empty himself. Franziska rolled her eyes and interrupted him after just three words, ordering him to fill her up and to never again think of asking such a foolish question. She was facing him this time, and got to savor the grimace he made as he unloaded inside of her. It was truly delicious; his face was bright crimson from the triple threat of the cold winter air, the after-effects of her slap, and his own climax. His eyes were closed and his upper lip curled, showing his top row of teeth. It was not at all an attractive expression, but to Franziska it was evidence that she had brought a man to his weakest point. She drank it up, and as she felt his warm seed grow cold as it spilled out of her, she could feel her own release approaching. She attacked his thick neck with kisses, digging her long fingernails into his shoulder.

Two of her fingers snaked beneath her panties to help her along, pinching and prodding her erect clitoris. When she did finish, her whole body shaking slightly, she touched her shoulders to her neck and rest her chin on Scruffy's broad shoulder.

She stood up, buttoning her shirt and adjusting her panties, and kicked snow at him, ordering him to get back to work. She collected her whip and stormed off, smiling once her back was turned. She loved carrying part of a man with her.

From there out, she was all business. She had a case to save. The circus became her domain as she investigated and interrogated everything and everybody within. She ordered surprise searches of every room in the housing unit, but found nothing exciting in any of them.

The last search, though, got her in touch with a witness she thought would prove to be key. He was a wheelchair-bound acrobat going by the stage name of Acro. He was devilishly handsome, and Franziska was very disheartened to hear that he was paralyzed from the waist down.

Acro corroborated the foolish clown's foolishly foolish account, claiming to have seen the suspect fly past his second-story window. Come to think of it, what kind of sadistic ringleader places his crippled acrobat on the second floor of the housing unit? Even Franziska wouldn't be so cruel.

Still, this only made matters worse for her. How was she expected to believe, let alone prove that this murder could have occurred in such an impossible fashion?

As the sun was setting, she caught that fool Phoenix Wright questioning Acro - and receiving a blood-stained scarf.

Oh, this simply would not pass. She stomped over to the spiky-haired fool and demanded that he hand over the cloth. It was evidence, after all, and needed to be inspected. She took the scarf and stormed off, taking Acro with her for questioning - he was to be the witness for tomorrow. Why had he hidden this piece of cloth from her during her investigation?

She went without sleep that night and ordered Scruffy to do the same. His mission was to build a scale model detailing how, exactly, Max Galactica was able to, one, commit this murder without leaving footprints, and two, fly away from the scene of the crime.

The inspection of the scarf revealed useless results. The blood belonged to Acro's brother, who was currently in a coma. The only other thing they found were traces of pepper. No blood or fingerprints belonging to anyone actually involved in the current case. Worthless.

Not that any of their work mattered. The next day in court, that foolish slimeball lawyer Phoenix Wright threw everyone a curveball - by accusing Acro of the murder!

Franziska was speechless, which had quite honestly never happened before. This was a new low; the lengths these detestable lawyers will actually go to in order to defend their clients was disgusting even to her. She put the flying issue on the back burner for a while and spent most of the trial explaining why this position was a ludicrous one to take up. For starters, Acro couldn't physically have done such a thing, but even assuming he could, he was a loyal performer with no motive to kill his beloved ringleader. Franziska found no reason to mention that the victim had placed a paraplegic on the second floor.

But what was this? Phoenix Wright had a ridiculously convoluted theory; Acro dropped a bust of Max Galactica onto the ringleader, though he actually intended to kill Regina. The bust snagged the ringleader's cape upon itself and was then pulled back up to Acro's room by a rope, making it seem to the clown that Max Galactica had flown away from the scene of the crime.

This was a personal affront to the justice system. A mockery! A fraud! It simply would not go down like this.

Even assuming all of that miraculously happened, what motive would Acro possibly have to murder Regina?

Her eyes went wide as Phoenix Wright pulled out the scarf.

The scarf she had told Scruffy to dispose of.

She clenched her fists and her teeth. She could just kill him.

It turned out Regina had peppered the scarf as a prank, but it had caused a lion to bite Acro's brother and put him in a coma. Or something. She was only barely paying attention - she was too busy seething with anger.

When Phoenix Wright demanded a search of Acro's room, Franziska perked up. She took great pride in pointing out that a surprise search of Acro's room had already been conducted, and returned no such bust; for that matter, nothing resembling a murder weapon had been found anywhere within the circus grounds. She folded her arms. The ball was in Phoenix Wright's court now, and she was overjoyed to see him fail.

But imagine her surprise when that foolish king of fools returned the foolish ball with a spike. Phoenix Wright claimed the bust was in this very courtroom - beneath Acro's wheelchair.

Franziska nearly toppled over. This man would stop at nothing, he would go to disgusting lengths to pin the crime on another party. How could anyone, in the face of such overwhelming evidence, insist that an innocent man, in a wheelchair no less, could -

Wait. No. This wasn't happening.

There was just no way!

The bust was under his chair. Phoenix Wright had been correct. Franziska von Karma lost a case for the second time.

To the same man.

This would not stand. She had to bring that man to his knees. She had to uphold the von Karma name. There was no way some upstart lawyer could to this to the von Karma lineage. It was all on her!

That night she kicked in the door to the offices of Wright and Co., ready to make heads roll.


	8. Mia Fey

But Phoenix Wright was nowhere to be found. There was only his little assistant, the spirit medium.

Franziska sighed. This was not Phoenix Wright, but she had business with the girl, too. She closed the door behind her, locking it.

Maya seemed afraid to look her in the eyes, and spent much of their brief conversation shifting her weight and stuttering. Franziska decided to bring up the elephant in the room, announcing proudly that she had been caught having sexual relations with a certain bumbling detective.

Maya's cheeks went pink, but she stayed silent. She took the girl's chin in her hand and forced her to make eye contact. Franziska shot her a devilish smile and very politely asked what she would have to do to keep her quiet.

When there was no response, she drew her whip and _cracked _it against the floor.

She expected this to intimidate the girl, but instead she watched a determined sneer spread across her young face. Maya clapped her hands together, and in a burst of smoke, she took the form of that buxom woman from detention!

Franziska took a step backwards, nearly tumbling over her heels. The woman was a bombshell. She was not exactly slender, but far from overweight; her hips and thighs had a delicious thickness to them, and her breasts were extraordinary. Who was this woman? What on earth was happening?

The woman introduced herself as Mia Fey. In a low growl, she informed Franziska that she would not allow any harm to come to her little sister.

After a moment, Franziska drew her whip, not even sure what she planned to do with it. It didn't matter anyway; Mia Fey surprised her and wrestled her to the ground. Kicking and screaming, Franziska tried to explain that she never intended to harm Maya, but for some reason her mysterious attacker didn't buy it.

The catfight of the century ensued right on the floor of Wright and Co., and the two women wrestled and clawed at each other with ferocity that would scare off a sabre-toothed tiger. Mia wore no bra of any kind, so her exceptional bust became a frequent target of Franziska's punches and scratches. Likewise, Mia scraped and yanked at Franziska's pantyhose until they were a shredded mess of fabric. Hair was pulled, fingernails and high heels were dug into skin, cufflinks were torn off, sandal straps were broken, and shrill screams bounced off the walls of the small office. In the chaos, their breasts had brushed against each other countless times, and even as she fought for her life, Franziska couldn't help but get fired up. Eventually, a powerful shove from Franziska sent her opponent toppling to the floor. On landing, the woman's short lavender skirt flared up and her thighs spread apart, giving Franziska a nice look, however fleeting, at her white panties. They were obviously the same pair Maya had been wearing, and so were designed for her more slender frame, but on Mia's fuller hips they were several sizes too small. They would have left little to the imagination even if they weren't currently semi-transparent with moisture.

A grin formed on Franziska's face, spanning ear to ear. A good brawl always got her thoroughly moist, but now that she knew her opponent was on the same page, it time to end the foreplay.

Mia quickly picked herself up and began crawling toward her, leering and snarling. Franziska showed the woman her palm, barking an order to stop.

To her surprise, Mia obeyed, freezing in place like a deer in headlights. In the freshly quiet room, the loud panting of both women became apparent.

They stared at each other for a moment until Franziska accused Mia of enjoying this a bit too much. Mia scoffed, wearing a confused expression, and denied such an outrageous claim.

Franziska's lips curled into a smile as she admitted her own arousal; after a long pause, she insisted that Mia felt the same, citing her soaked underwear and erect nipples as irrefutable evidence. They continued panting for a moment, Mia still frozen in a crawling position. Slowly, the older woman pulled her legs beneath her torso until she was sitting on the back of her calves. What seemed like a month passed before Franziska began slowly undoing her jacket. Mia simply stared, continuing to catch her breath.

The proud prosecutor let her jacket fall to the floor and invited Ms. Mia Fey to continue wrestling with her.

A pungent silence continued to fill the air, interrupted every few seconds by a quiet breath. Mia Fey stared into Franziska's soul, studying her gaze, analyzing it, analyzing her.

Hesitantly, angrily, she agreed.

It was a slow start at first; they spent no small amount of time simply exploring each other's skin, each making mental roadmaps of the other's muscle structure. Franziska slipped her fingers into Mia's robe, peeling it back to free her breasts. Her nipples were a dull pink, with large, egg-shaped areolae. A small scratch on one of them oozed a tiny trickle of blood. Franziska half-heartedly apologized and lowered her tongue to it, lapping up the patch of red.

Mia reached around behind her and undid her bra. Franziska, though part of her didn't want to know, couldn't resist pressing their nipples together to compare. Her pale breasts seemed twice as pale next to Mia's mild tan, and for that matter they seemed practically non-existent, almost completely eclipsed by Mia's massive mammaries. She voiced a small grunt of frustration and immediately wished she hadn't, as Mia began to laugh at her.

She scowled and pinned Mia to the ground, ordering her to be quiet. Nobody laughs at a von Karma. Mia's laughing quieted, but hardly stopped. Livid, Franziska sat on the woman's chin and instructed her to smell her panties.

Mia rolled her eyes and exhaled a disgusted breath. The smell of Scruffy's seed was still embedded in them.

Franziska laughed, relishing Mia's humiliation, and slid the pair of wet panties off her legs. She ground her bare vulva across Mia's lips, giving her clear instructions.

To her surprise, the older woman simply shook her head, staring up at her with a scowl. Franziska narrowed her eyes and, in a growling whisper, repeated her instructions. Mia refused.

She could almost see the steam coming out of her nose. She reached behind her to take hold of her whip, but Mia curled into a ball, locking her knees around Franziska's shoulders, and used her legs to pull the astounded prosecutor into a reclining position atop Mia's stomach. As much as she writhed and wriggled, Mia's muscular legs had her locked down. When she failed to sit up, she managed to roll over, thinking her arms might be able to push away from Mia if she faced the floor. This seemed to be exactly what the buxom woman wanted, however, as she locked her foolish legs around Franziska's neck, forcing her face into Mia's crotch and the two of them into a perfect 69 position. The proud von Karma simply refused to take this lying down; she was never, _ever _the one to take directions during sex. She pushed away from the floor with all her might, but Mia's foolishly tight leglock kept her chin right in the line of fire.

When she felt a tongue boldly probing her own folds, Franziska had no recourse but to breath a loud, irritated sigh and follow Mia's example. All she could think about was getting even, re-establishing authoriity as soon as she got out of this. Even as her chin nuzzled Mia's well-kept patch of pubic hair, even as she lavished the intoxicating scent of Mia's arousal, she dreamt of pinning the vile woman down and forcing her to do her bidding. Even as she purred on the receiving end of Mia's nimble tongue, even as her toes began to curl, even as her hips began moving in circular motions against Mia's face, revenge was at the front of her mind, even as she hungrily lapped up Mia's orgasm and even as she released her own climax into Mia's mouth.

She lept at her chance when she felt Mia's thighs loosen just a bit. She sprang to her feet, turning around and staring down at Mia's smug face. The foolish woman had crossed her arms behind her head and smiled up at her with a foolishly annoying grin. What nerve! Franziska very politely asked this fool just who the hell she thought she was.

Mia Fey simply stared back at her and shrugged.

Franziska cried out in frustration and pounced on the woman; they rolled over each other, wrestling and grappling, and neither one of them was sure whether they were resuming the sex or the catfight.

Quite honestly, it was a bit of both; they pressed their nipples and their labia together as they rolled and writhed around the room in a messy, concentrated ball of lust and aggression. If a young Franziska's bathroom tryst with Calisto Yew could be described as a battle for dominance, this was surely an all-out war. Each woman refused to be dominated so vehemently that neither one of them could gain the upper hand. After they made a few laps around the room, knocking lamps off of tables and books off of shelves, they finally ended up in a position where neither of them needed to take the lead; their backs on the floor, each of them furiously grinding their labia against the other's.

At first, the spot where their genitals sloppily converged was flat against the carpet, but as their frantic tribadism continued to escalate, each of them arched their backs, bringing their point of union at least six or seven inches off the ground.

Paint mixers would have looked on this scene with envy; the gyrations of their hips were so fast and so perfectly in sync that it seemed as though they had become one consciousness. Franziska closed her eyes and opened her mouth in a silent scream, raking her fingernails through the carpet as she unleashed the most powerful orgasm she'd had in recent memory. Her thighs and spine shook violently, her breath becoming a pained wheeze. She had no idea how far along Mia was, but the thought of holding back to outlast her opponent had not even entered her mind.

Her thrusts slowed considerably as she came down from her climax, and her hips touched the floor again for the first time in minutes. When she heard her partner scold her, she briefly resumed her pace, but when rational thought returned to her, she stopped completely. Nobody gives Franziska von Karma orders!

Mia Fey let out a grunt of frustration and barked at her to continue. Franziska smiled.

She told Mia Fey that she would have to beg for it.

It was so nice to hold the power again.

Another irritated grunt, then a long silence, then the word, "Please."

Franziska laughed. She asked Mia to call her "mistress."

A deep, growling scream filled the room, one that Franziska could hardly believe had come from the same woman. Mia rest her elbows on the carpet, sitting up to glower at her. She narrowed her eyebrows and, through gritted teeth, asked her to please continue... mistress.

Franziska was glowing. She laid her back down onto the carpet and pushed her pelvis closer to Mia's, resuming their frenzied pace. That was as close to domination as she was going to get out of this woman, but it would more than do for her.

When Mia had finished, they stood up and silently dressed themselves and collected their things. Without a word, Franziska turned to leave.

Mia asked her what she planned to do to Maya.

She stopped in her tracks and grinned. She turned around, closing her eyes, and held her index and middle fingers up to her lips in a "V" shape. She stuck her tongue between her two digits, mimicking cunnilingus. She laughed and opened her eyes to discover with a start that Maya, not Mia, was staring back at her, blushing furiously.

Franziska stuttered and stammered a few incoherent half-sentences before she eventually gave up and took a few steps toward the girl. Maya backed away from her, nervously readying the same hand gesture that had summoned Mia the first time.

Franziska held one finger to her lips and gently shook her head, insisting that everything would be fine. Hesitantly, the girl allowed her to enter her personal space, though her bright red cheeks refused to subside.

They were nearly the same height, but Franziska was in high heels, so she stood about six inches taller than Maya. As she leaned in towards the girl's face, the nervous medium turned her head away from her penetrating gaze. Franziska took Maya's chin in her palm, turning her head to face her. This scene had played out before, but instead of _cracking_ her whip, this time she planted a long, warm kiss on Maya's lips. The slender girl squirmed and released muffled squeals, but in due time her fears slowly melted and she allowed Franziska's tongue more and more access to her mouth.

They broke apart abruptly when they heard a key sliding into the office's door. Fighting back her own blush, Franziska stormed up to the door and waited for that foolish man to enter. When his foolishly spiky head entered and witnessed Franziska von Karma standing there scowling at him, his horrified reaction was the sort of priceless gift she could only dream about. She launched into a tirade of insults, puncuating them with whippings, and let him know in no uncertain terms that their feud was far from over. As she stormed out of his office, leaving him bleeding and huddled in a corner, she strongly considered marching back in there, having her way with Maya and forcing Phoenix Wright to watch. With a sigh, she decided that the only way to truly prove her superiority and regain the honor of her family was to defeat him properly in court.


	9. Adrian Andrews

She followed Phoenix Wright like a hawk, waiting to hear news of him taking up a case so that she could pounce on it and tear out his jugular. It struck her just how few cases this man actually took; only one every few months. It was such a foreign concept to her. She so lavished the taste of victory that it was not unlike torture to go without prosecuting for so long. But finally her time arrived. A prominent actor on a children's television show had been murdered, and heading the defense was none other than her arch-rival, Phoenix Wright. This time. This time would surely be it. He would taste the bottom of her heel.

Imagine her surprise, then, when she spotted Scruffy speaking with Phoenix Wright for the second time today. Within Criminal Affairs, no less!

Earlier, she'd caught them speaking at the crime scene. Fair enough. He had the right to conduct his own investigation. She'd whipped Scruffy into submission and left it at that. But within the detective's own department, sharing case details with the enemy? Who had clearly come here for that specific purpose? This was the very final straw. She didn't even bother whipping him. She simply stormed up to him and, with an ice-cold voice that could extinguish the sun, gave him thirty minutes to remove himself from the premises.

If it weren't for him...

A condescending voice from behind her finished her sentence. A voice she hadn't heard in years. She whirled around. Standing before her, towering over her as he always had, was her little brother Miles Edgeworth.

It had been years since she'd seen him. Nearly a year since he disappeared. She had thought him dead. It took every ounce of her strength to hold back the single bead of emotion that attempted to escape her tear ducts.

It was good to see him. He had changed. He was still as pale as ever, but he was no longer the gangly Miles Edgeworth she had known so intimately as a teenager. He had an air of confidence about him, a twinkle in his eye that she had never seen before. His presence was powerful. He was... handsome.

He was very handsome. Franziska had spent her entire life hating the fact that she had to look up to meet his gaze, but now she actually caught herself staring into his eyes. They went on forever. Why were they so much deeper than before? What had happened to this man to change him so drastically?

She had to remind herself that this was the Miles Edgeworth who ran away with his tail between his legs after losing a few cases to Phoenix Wright. She had to remind herself that she was currently furious with him. His entrance just now had made her even more so. How dare he show his face to her without a shred of shame upon it? He had soiled the von Karma name. When she said as much, Miles exhaled through his nose and smiled.

He asked her how she was doing upholding the family creed. That was below the belt.

She made her plans abundantly clear to Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth, and... how curious. Where was Maya Fey? The little girl from the channeling case was there, Maya's cousin or something, but there was no Maya to be found.

She shrugged this off, assuring Miles Edgeworth that she would never give up this case, and promised Phoenix Wright that he would fall in court tomorrow.

With that, she stormed off.

With a sneer, she took solace in the fact that she would soon be the better of them. After this case, she would have done something Miles Edgeworth had failed to do, something even Manfred von Karma had failed to do - in a few days, she would have defeated Phoenix Wright.

During the investigation of the hotel where the murder had taken place, she came across an important witness: the suspect's manager, a strong, confident woman known as Adrian Andrews. She was average height, average build, with long, blonde hair and glasses that seemed to hide her eyes. There was a heavy air of strength about her, like this was not a woman to be trifled with. She was careful to shut the door behind her as she entered the room, leaving a guard posted outside.

Franziska grinned like the Cheshire Cat as she shook the woman's hand. It was a soft hand. Slender fingers. Creamy complexion. Perfectly manicured nails This was a hand she fully intended to become very intimate with.

Franziska had done her homework. This woman was not the powerful, dauntless person she appeared to be. It was all an act. She had read it all in the reports.

Years ago, a woman named Celeste Inpax had killed herself as a result of emotional abuse from two men involved in the current case: the suspect and the victim. Ms. Inpax had been a mentor of sorts to Ms. Andrews. In the days following her death, Ms. Andrews herself attempted suicide.

From this, Franziska had surmised two things.

Firstly, Ms. Adrian Andrews was a person lacking the strength and self-respect to carry on in a world without a mentor figure, without a person to rely on. Ergo, she was the type of person to rely heavily on others, to graft onto them and cling for dear life. The type of person easy to be manipulated. This benefited Franziska twofold. She was certain she would be able to use this knowledge to steer Ms. Andrews in a direction that would benefit her case.

The second way this knowledge would prove beneficial tied in directly to the second thing Franziska had surmised about Ms. Andrews.

Her actions following Celeste's death led Franziska to believe that Adrian Andrews was most likely a lesbian. Perhaps bisexual or, at the very least, straight with a massive girlcrush.

With a smirk, she ran the numbers in her head. Here in the room with her was a beautiful, intelligent woman who was most likely willing to sleep with women and most definitely easily manipulated and easily dominated.

It was like Christmas morning.

Still, this case was too important. There would be time for a roll in the proverbial hay later, she would see to that.. But she wasn't about to let a single case detail slip through her fingers.

She grilled Ms. Adrian Andrews thoroughly, breaking her frosty exterior down one question at a time until a timid, stuttering mess was all that remained.

It wasn't good. The bespectacled blondie had basically admitted to tampering with the crime scene - pinning the crime on Matt Engarde, the suspect Phoenix Wright would be defending!

Something died in Franziska's throat. She would be ruined if this got out in court tomorrow. She had to nip this in the bud.

Pouring as much volume and authority as she possible could into her next sentence, she ordered Ms. Andrews to plead the fifth. She managed to convince her that if she did speak of her actions behind the scenes, Matt Engarde would, without a doubt, be found innocent. She repeated her orders, drawing a frightened nod out of the woman, forcing her to promise that not a word of this would be spoken. She complied.

Franziska exhaled a deep sigh, moving on to another line of questioning. After about four more case-related questions, she slipped in the question that had been on her mind since she walked in, though she was fairly certain she knew the answer.

Without batting an eyelash, she asked this nervous woman if she was a lesbian.

She had expected a flustered reaction. A blush, some stammering, shifting her weight in her chair. She had hoped for it. It would have aroused her.

To her surprise, Adrian Andrews simply stared right into her eyes and nodded quickly, exactly as she had answered many questions previously.

Franziska was confused, to say the very least. She lifted her neck straight up and shook her head a bit, recoiling, having no idea what else to make of that response. Was she just nodding without really listening? She asked the question again, this time rephrasing it so it was more of a statement.

Adrian Andrews nodded again. This time, she also responded verbally. Yes, she was a lesbian.

Franziska was stunned. She hadn't expected this. The woman was totally unfazed. She hadn't even asked why she wanted to know. It was as though... as though she knew that would be the next question. As though she had been waiting for it.

Doing her best to regroup, Franziska posed a new question to Ms. Andrews: did she prefer mild-mannered, shy women, or...

Franziska bent her wrist and rest her cheek on her fist. Or did she prefer strong, authoritative women?

Adrian Andrews blushed and found a particularly interesting spot on the floor to stare at. That was the response she had been hoping for. That answered her question better than words could have.

She drew her whip, pulling it taut between her fists. For the next 40 minutes, she explained, Ms. Adrian Andrews would address her as "mistress."

Adrian responded in the affirmative, a wry smile slowly spreading across her blushing face.

Oh, Franziska would enjoy this.

They wasted no time getting to know each other. Franziska pressed their foreheads together, her brow furrowed and the corners of her mouth pulled into a smirk. Adrian seemed content to continue avoiding her gaze, blushing furiously.

Franziska looped her whip behind Adrian's shoulders, pulling her close enough that their breasts met with a silent goosh. Peering down at the woman, past her thick glasses, she noticed her wet eyes quivering slightly. Studying them more closely, she could see their faint movements were not out of fear... but of anticipation. She tied her whip around the woman's hands, pulling it tighter... tighter... tighter, until a small moan escaped Adrian's mouth. With a smile, Franziska pulled the knot just one notch tighter, pulling one last rasp out of Adrian's throat.

The next minute passed so quickly that it felt as if it hadn't passed at all. As if it had simply been skipped over. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, they were here; Adrian Andrews knelt on the floor, her hands bound behind her back by a leather whip, her head hidden beneath Franziska's short skirt.

Franziska sat on the couch mostly clothed, her thighs spread wide and her panties dangling off one of her ankles. She purred on the receiving end of Adrian's treatment; Regina Berry had been eager to learn, and Lotta Hart had done this a few times before, but between her legs now was a woman who clearly had a profound appreciation for eating pussy. This was a woman who would seek out this activity whether Franziska was there or not, and it made a world of difference.

She drank from Franziska's folds like a starving stray cat might drink from a dish. Even without the use of her hands, she was certainly performing the most competent cunnilingus Franziska could recall, though admittedly she had trouble recalling much of anything at the time. Adrian's nose nuzzled her hood and clitoris, shooting short bursts of warm air onto them with each breath. Her narrow tongue and wet lips devoured this particular meal with enough care and precision to melt even the most fiercely heterosexual woman alive. Within minutes, Franziska had made up her mind: this would not be an isolated incident. Adrian Andrews would be a person to keep in contact with. She was too rare a specimen.

Showing her appreciation the best way she knew how, Franziska rest her palm on the top of Adrian's head, spread her fingers wide, letting them explore her golden locks, and pushed the woman's blonde head closer against her body.

By now, the blonde woman's thighs were spread flat against the floor, grinding against the carpet through her pants. Franziska couldn't help but snicker as she took notice of this, and as she pressed Ms. Andrews's head closer to her still, she asked if she needed release.

Yes, mistress, was her muffled reply. Franziska, grinning like the grinch, rest her head on the back of the couch and purred softly. She began massaging Adrian's scalp, assuring her that the sooner she finished, the sooner she would be rewarded. Even as she spoke, telltale cracks in her voice told both women that such an event was rapidly approaching. Sure enough, it wasn't long before Franziska released a shuddering, toe-curling orgasm into Adrian's mouth.

A good twenty or thirty seconds passed as Franziska stared at the ceiling fan, sighing contentedly. Finally, she sat up straight and snatched the panties off of her ankle, crumpling them into a ball and shoving them into a startled Adrian's mouth.

She slid off the couch before her partner even had time to voice any muffled complaints and yanked a pair of sky-blue dress pants down a pair of slender legs. She resumed eye contact with her target, who smiled back at her - as much as somebody can smile with a panty-gag between their teeth - and pulled a noticeably wet pair of panties down to her ankles in the same fashion. She hoisted the woman's legs up, pulling her from a sitting position to a reclining one, so that she lay on her back; specifically, on her arms, which were still bound.

Franziska messed with the knot a bit, making sure that Adrian's hands were still tightly wrapped, but she got the whip's handle and a bit of slack out of the equation. She spread the woman's legs as wide as the crumpled pants circling her ankles would allow and set to work. Her tongue and the handle of her whip entered Adrian at the same moment, filling the room with stifled moans; the handle plunged clean past a beautiful, pink, salivating vulva. Franziska's tongue dove into the considerably narrower embrace of Adrian's anus.

They took vastly different approaches. The whip handle delivered slow, powerful strokes that filled Adrian completely, but infrequently; the wriggling tongue was focused primarily on speed, quickly lavishing every inch it could reach with saliva. Muffled squeals poured into the room as Adrian Andrews writhed beneath such treatment. In what seemed like mere seconds, an elongated pleasure moan spilled out of her as her legs launched into violent spasms. Franziska withdrew the whip, stunned, and glanced up at Ms. Andrews. Her face was beet-red, her glasses opaque with fog. A muffled cry of "Miftreff" left her, her breathing heavy and pained. A pleading tone hung from her voice and melted Franziska's cold heart.

This woman was a marvel. A precious gem to be polished and displayed. Franziska had bound and gagged her fair share of women - and men - in her life, but Adrian Andrews was the first she'd encountered who enjoyed it this much. The woman's labia were swollen with arousal and soaked with moisture, literally throbbing for more. How could even a proud von Karma refuse such a beautiful, hungry set of lips?

She lowered her tongue to this inviting entrance, gently flicking it against Adrian's swollen clitoris. Her wriggling tongue parted the labia like the red sea and began tasting the uppermost regions of its new surroundings, as if Franziska was attempting to lick her own upper lip from inside Adrian. She could hear a high-pitched scream pierce the air, muffled as it was, as the whip handle forced its way into Adrian's reddening back door. It had an easy enough time getting in, now that it was thoroughly slick with vaginal lubrication; likewise, the walls of her anus wore a fresh coating of saliva to ease the friction. Waves of equally piercing, equally muffled screams continued spilling out of the woman as the handle dove into her repeatedly.

If the frantic gyrations of her hips were any indication - moving in a figure-eight motion, doing her best to pull both tongue and whip handle deeper into her - these were not screams of pain, but of immense pleasure.

Franziska found herself so caught up in the excitement that, before she was even aware of it, two of her own fingers were bestowing a vigorous massage upon her own clitoris. Fueled by the tremendously arousing squeals that continued to flow from Adrian's mouth, the same two fingers soon migrated to the deepest regions of her vagina that they could reach. They craned and curled deep into her, searching for that magical spot.

Again, it seemed like only seconds had passed before another trembling orgasm struck Adrian's lower half. By now, the smell of sex filled the room, hanging in the air like a fog. But even that couldn't stay Franziska's hand. She wrenched the whip's handle from its current sheath only to bury it back inside of Adrian's slit, causing a single, muffled purr to waft from the woman's mouth. Using her hands to lift herself off of the carpet, Franziska crab walked towards her partner and unceremoniously plopped down inches away from her. She pulled Adrian's pants and panties off of her ankles and threw them to the floor.

Twisting her legs a bit so they wouldn't bang into Adrian's shins, she scooted closer and closer until she was able to sheath the other half of the whip handle within her own slit. It was smooth sailing from there. Pelvic thrusts all around. The whip handle was short enough that their labia were even able to kiss in vague tribadism. The two sets of hips entered a sort of contest with each other, each trying to thrust harder or faster than the other.

Since Franziska had the front end of the whip, part of the actual cord was inside of her, folded against the handle. Not that she minded in the slightest; this made the makeshift phallus filling her just slightly longer, tapered, and nearly twice as thick. Her tongue spilled out of her mouth, and she couldn't seem to stop beads of drool from dripping onto her suit.

They went at it this way for some time, continuing their attempts to outdo each other. For the majority of the event, the whip handle was invisible, masked by the sloppy union of their dripping vulva. Adrian seemed to blush with her entire body, most of her legs and torso turning red. Glowing with sweat as she was, her pink skin only made her even more adorable. It was enough of a nudge to send Franziska tumbling over the edge.

She'd had a bit of a headstart on the freshly-relieved Adrian, so she didn't feel guilty about finishing first. She lifted her shoulders, touching them to her neck, and exhaled a silent, satisfied breath as she clenched tightly around her whip.

When they were both satisfied, they laid there for a few minutes in silence. They glanced at each other and smiled. Eventually, Franziska helped Ms. Adrian Andrews stand up and untied her whip. Adrian bent down to collect her pants, stepping into them and her panties simultaneously.

A knock at the door. With a start, Adrian hastily buckled her pants. The door opened.

The panties! Adrian spit them out of her mouth, trying to hand them to Franziska. This foolishly foolish woman would ruin her! She batted the foolish woman's foolish arm away, adjusting her skirt, and Adrian quickly hid the pair of saliva-soaked panties behind her back.

Who should walk in but the foolish king of fools, Phoenix Wright. He looked... beat down. Like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

It was a look Franziska had wanted to see him wear since they had met.

But something was... wrong. This wasn't the face of a man who had been defeated, or feared imminent defeat. This was the face of a man who was... tired. Tired of trying. Tired of living. What on earth had happened? Even Franziska, in the depths of her hatred, was concerned.

Not that she would ever say as much.

Maya was still nowhere to be seen. The little girl from the channeling case still tagged behind him, but she, too, looked tired. It was not a look that belonged on such a young girl. Something was wrong.

Not that she would ever say as much.

She asked, with all the class and tact of a von Karma, what Phoenix Wright was doing here.

He mumbled something about being "his" lawyer. That was when it dawned on her; this wasn't Adrian's hotel room, it was Matt Engarde's. The defendant.

Thinking of no better comeback, she accused that fool Wright of following her around.

To her great shock, it was not Wright, but the little girl who fought back. She accused Franziska of doing the following. Of following Scruffy.

Franziska couldn't help but laugh. She decided it would be all right to let them in on the secret. The detective wouldn't be meddling in her affairs any longer anyway.

She produced the Scruffytracker, explaining the device she had placed on the detective's coat and how this receiver told her where he was at all times.

With a huff, she excused herself, but not before reminding Adrian to think hard on what they had discussed.

Adrian stared at her, wearing a confused expression for a moment, then nodded as her memory returned to her.

Franziska's victory in this case was contingent on Adrian Andrews keeping her trap shut in court tomorrow. She would see to it that nothing would stop her. Nothing.

A wry grin spread across her face as she stomped through the hotel hallway.

She had left her panties with Adrian. She would conduct the rest of her investigation commando.

This was perfectly fine with her.


	10. Miles Edgeworth, Part 2

Late that night, her investigation having been conducted to her satisfaction, she went over the details of the case in her hotel room. She sat on the bed, her back upright against the headrest. Two of the fingers on her left hand curled around the handle of a coffee mug; in her right hand was a thick stack of papers. Piles of papers, photos, and evidence were strewn about the surface of the bed, so much that it would be nearly impossible to sleep on in its current state. Perched on the tip of her nose was a pair of reading glasses. She rarely ever used them, her vision faring just fine without their assistance, but the significance of this case hung in the air over her head like a dark cloud, and she decided the tiny bit of extra clarity they offered her might come in handy as she studied the case reports.

Her preoccupation with the case bordered on obsession, so she had neglected doing laundry for far longer than she usually did. Besides the reading glasses, all she wore at the moment was a baggy pajama top that, quite honestly, covered as much of her thighs as her skirt usually did, and her least favorite pair of panties. Not counting the suit she planned to wear to court tomorrow, she was wearing the only two clean articles of clothing she had left. The rest of her wardrobe was piled sloppily in the corner of the room - minus one pair of panties in the possession of Ms. Adrian Andrews.

As she took a long sip of coffee, a startling knock at the door shook her out of the case files. She set the cup down on the nightstand and shimmied off the bed, cracking her knuckles as she trudged to the door.

Through the peephole was a tall man wearing an indecipherable facial expression that seemed half scowl, half smile. It was Miles Edgeworth.

She undid the chain, opened the door and pulled it all the way open, shooting him an icy stare. Icicles hung from her words and she greeted him by his full name. As if mocking her, he greeted her similarly, using her full name. She saw his eyes dart south exactly once, acknowledging her naked legs, and she couldn't help but smirk.

She lowered her head and rolled her eyes so that she peered at him over the top of her glasses. She breathed a dismissive sigh and let him know that she was rather busy at the moment.

Miles smirked and let her know how little he cared.

Franziska's mind flew back to the day this conversation had played out in reverse, the day she had lost her virginity. She forced herself not to blush.

Miles forced his way past her and into the room, rudely bumping his shoulder into hers. Eyeing the mess atop her bed, he asked to discuss the case.

Franziska released a hearty, uproarious laugh and closed the door, fixing the chain to it. There was nothing to discuss. This case, this victory belonged to her. There was nothing he could say - nothing anyone could say - that would convince her otherwise.

He shrugged in that same condescending way he so often did, shaking his head. He proposed that she stood no chance of winning the trial in her current state, that he had something she did not, something that would prohibit her from defeating Phoenix Wright.

Tears rolled down her face. Tears of laughter. She scoffed, pushing the glasses up her nose. What could he possibly know about defeating Phoenix Wright? This was the man who lost to Phoenix Wright three times and then ran away to hide from his mistakes. Even more than losing in court, she told him, it was hiding like a scared child that had really shamed the von Karma name.

He shook his head, assuring her that she would see what he meant in a few days, urging her to think about his words. There was nothing to think about, as far as she was concerned.

She sat on the edge of the bed, facing him, and they argued for a while. All throughout, she kept catching herself returning to his eyes - those eyes of his that seemed endless in their expanse. In the back of her mind, a small part of her started to believe him, started to believe that maybe there was something he had that she hadn't. Something he had found. Something that had changed him, that had made his eyes so deep and so full of conviction. These were not the eyes of a man who had so thoroughly shamed himself. These were the eyes of a proud man, a man with zero regrets. How could he look that way? How could he look at her that way?

Her concentration was broken when he asked her just what she was staring at. She hung her head in shame for a second and sighed. When she looked back up at him and sighed again, her face had her distinct scowl plastered across it. They stared at each other, trading scowls for a full minute., and something, some force, some other brain seemed to take over her body. She stood up, took his cravat in her fist, and pulled him towards her, kissing him hard on the lips.

Her actions were not met with surprise. They were not met with resistance. The events that followed did not unfold with awkwardness or confusion, or regret or hesitation.. They simply unfolded, as if they were the only events that could possibly have transpired right then and there.

They laid down on the bed, right on top of the papers and evidence, not even acknowledging that they were there. She unbuttoned his coat carefully and precisely. Any other coat would have been ripped open, the buttons popped off of it in haste, but that was simply how Franziska decided to open this particular coat - more accurately, how the mysterious other force told her to open it. At the time, it didn't strike either of them as odd in the slightest. She folded her arms, gripping the opposite corners of her baggy shirt, and deliberately lifted it over her bare breasts. Miles took them in his palms without a second thought.

In no time at all, they were each completely nude. A curious thing happened, though she paid it no mind then: She laid on her back as Miles hovered over her, supporting himself with his arms.

What was so curious, exactly? In her entire life, Franziska had never, not once, been on the bottom. But she voiced no objections, only urging him on as the pink head of his penis pressed against the folds of her labia.

It forced its way past her lips. She was so slick with arousal that it had an easy time slipping in to the hilt. It was a large penis, larger than average. There was no mistaking that, but it felt so much smaller than it did those five years ago. It certainly felt smaller than Scruffy's... she laughed to herself. Scruffy would manage to enter her mind at the moment when she least wanted him to.

Five years ago they had lost their virginity to each other. Even after all that time, this reunion seemed like business as usual, like it was fated to happen. Only their positions were reversed.

Make no mistake; even from beneath Miles, she was the one running the show. She wrapped her thighs around his hips, locking her ankles behind the small of his back. With fingernails digging deep into his shoulders, leaving deep red marks across them, she instructed his pace, urging him faster and faster.

He complied - what else would he do? - and she felt his warm shaft entering and exiting her more rapidly. Her breath sped up to match, assaulting his face with warm air.

Even as fast as they were going, this was not a carnal affair. It was...

Looking back on it, Franziska wasn't even sure she liked what it was. In fact, she was sure she didn't.

This event made her feel things she shouldn't have. Things she didn't want to feel. Things that seemed not entirely unlike... love.

But in that moment, she was just so damn aroused that she hadn't really noticed. The whole event just sort of happened on its own. Her brain wasn't instructing her body anymore, some outside force was. No, that wasn't quite right. She was not a puppet, her strings being pulled. She was... a conduit. An outlet. Her brain wasn't instructing her body... her heart was. Even then, she knew Miles was the same.

Instinctively, she reached up and placed her palm on his heart, as if feeling for some sign that that much was true. As if something like that were possible to feel. She could feel many things: his rapid heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest as his lungs drew in shorter and quicker breaths, and what scarce chest hair her had - and was it ever scarce, compared to... no. He didn't exist right now. She traced the contours of his chest, discovering with a flutter that his pecs were a great deal more developed and lovely than they had been before. Her arms slipped beneath his, feeling his shoulder blades, which were also larger and manlier than they were years prior.

His penis seemed like it was beginning to radiate heat. A warmth spread through Franziska, beginning where he filled her and spreading to her fingers and toes. She ordered Miles to thrust more slowly... but harder.

He did so. And how heavenly it was. She was close.

She curled her fingers into a fist, her nails drawing blood from his shoulders. Her eyes clamped shut, and her red cheeks curled into a tight smile. Her voice cracked as she spoke his first name. Right then, as the "s" in "Miles" passed her lips, she reached her climax. It had been silent, but powerful.

Later that night, she would kick herself for failing to outlast a foolish fool like him.

She arched her back against the mattress, resting her head on her shoulder. She curled her toes tightly, wrinkling a piece of paper that lay beneath her foot. Who cared? All she cared about was Miles - his thick, hot penis still filling her repeatedly, drawing out her orgasm, lengthening it.

Eventually, she felt warm semen filling her and a delighted squeal nearly left her lips. She knew she had to choose between holding back the squeal or holding back another climax. She chose the former, barely managing to remain silent as a second wave of relief left her. Try as she might, though, there was no hiding the blood that filled her cheeks or the wince she made as sweet release found her.

Miles collapsed onto her, their cheeks pressing together. He drew his fingers slowly across her other cheek. They stared at each other for a moment until Franziska furrowed her brow, smiling a wry, arrogant smile, a smile that spoke of mock anger.

Calling him by his full name, she asked him if that was really all he had to give.

He stared at her for a moment.

She shoved him off of her, rolling over to kneel on the bed, crumpling numerous papers and documents beneath her knees. She reached behind herself and spread her behind apart with her fingers, offering herself to Miles.

By this time, her brain had regained control of her body. She had a plan, and it was very important to her that this plan succeed.

In her lifetime, Franziska had engaged in lots and lots of sex. But she had never made love. Until, it occurred to her, just now.

This embarrassed her. Of all people, it had to be with her brother. The only person who knew she even had a vulnerable side. It sickened her that this had happened. But it had.

So now that she and Miles had made love, it was time to rectify this matter. It was time to justify this event having occurred. It was time to fuck.

And fuck they did. He hesitated at first, but it didn't take more than a few barked orders before he slowly, reluctantly sheathed his manhood into her back door, with only a slick coating of semen for lubrication.

She licked her lips. Her tongue spilled out of her mouth as he sent her heaving across the mattress with each thrust. Soon, her arms gave out, leaving her face pressed against the pillows and her breasts flat against the mattress, her nipples tingling as they scraped across the fabric. Miles sunk his fingers into her fleshy behind, spreading her cheeks further apart. Her right hand pressed itself between her closed thighs, its middle finger probing her hood in search of her clitoris. One finger soon became two, and soon three of her fingers were acting as a surrogate phallus, snaking their way in and out of her cunny quickly and deliberately.

She managed to considerably outlast Miles this time, though the feel of his warm, thin seed pouring into her rear certainly sped things along. When she felt herself getting close, she snaked a hand under her pillow and produced her whip. Its handle plunged cleanly into her thirsty slit; at first, it filled her much more than he did, but soon the after-effects of his second consecutive ejaculation began to wear off, and his once-limp member stood back at full mast. He continued pounding away at her reddening behind, seeming even faster than before. In due time, Franziska unleashed a hot gasp and creamed all over her whip.

She ordered Miles to withdraw; when he did, she rolled over, sitting against the headboard as she had been when he arrived, and wrapped the whip around his neck, forcing him within centimeters of her slick, shimmering labia.

He hesitated, and she knew why: he had only minutes ago ejaculated into her. He glanced up at her, and as their eyes met, she realized for the first time that she was still wearing her reading glasses. She sneered down at him and pulled his head even closer against her.

She cared not what he thought of tasting his own semen. He might enjoy it. She had enjoyed fouler acts.

With a crack of the whip he obeyed. Though tentative at first, he eventually got bolder and more effective, his tongue attending to all the walls of her vagina. She ran her fingers through his silver hair, balling it in her fist, and pulling his head closer to her as she saw fit, barking directions. He ate her out fervently and she soaked in every second of it. She exhaled through pursed lips as he drove her to orgasm this way.

How she relished control.

As she fell asleep that night, she knew she had made a few mistakes. The most recent of which was agreeing to let Miles sleep in this room. In this bed. As they lay next to each other, mostly nude, she yanked a stack of papers out of his hand and chastised him for having the audacity to read up on her case details. She punctuated her lecture by using the rolled-up document to deliver a strong thwack to his forehead. This evening changed nothing. This case was still hers. She would give it to nobody.

He only laughed and nodded.

But she had a feeling in the back of her head that continued to nag at her even as she slept. She knew Miles would read the case information once she fell asleep. Every word of it. She knew he wouldn't be able to resist.

And yet... even knowing this, she fell asleep next to him. She never sent him away. A small part of her wanted him to read the files. A small part of her was counting on it. Deep in her brain, a small part of her wanted to see... to see just what it was he had meant before. What did he have that she didn't? What could keep her from winning this case?

Nothing, she assured herself. Nothing.

Or so she thought.


	11. Director Hotti

The next morning, Franziska von Karma was well-rested and well-prepared to annihilate one Phoenix Wright. It would be the court case of the century. She knew every facet of this story, every inch of the crime scene, every detail in every report, and she had the most important witness curled tightly around her finger. Her heels clacked with confidence as she made her way up the steps to the courthouse. All was right with the world.

Then, in the distance, she heard a gunshot.

Her eyes flew open, swelling to the size of golf balls. That was the only reaction her body had time to produce before she felt a horrible, burning pain in her shoulder.

She had been shot!

Shock overcame her. She lost her footing and fell to the marble steps with a grunt. Gravity pulled her limp body down some of the stairs she had just climbed. She clutched her shoulder with her hand, balling the fabric of her sleeve within her fist. Her lungs were uninjured, but she couldn't seem to breathe. Her perfect, white suit... marred with thick, red blood...

A mob of people appeared beside her. Bailiffs. Passersby. A cacophony of speech rang out, but she couldn't hear most of it. This couldn't be happening. This was a dream.

She batted away the hands reaching for her and tried to stand up, but her strength had left her. It was a struggle just to move. Her limbs quaking, her heart racing, her breath a shallow wheeze, she pushed herself onto one knee.

A man tried to take her arm. For one brief moment, her breath returned and she snapped at him. With wild swings of her arms, she pushed everybody away. Screaming through gritted teeth, she stood up. She could feel her knees knocking. Her legs went limp. She was falling again!

Somebody caught her. Who were these fools? She took a swing at the man, but he was completely unfazed. At the moment, she had the upper arm strength of a noodle. Now two men supported her weight. Even knowing they were all that kept her from tumbling to the marble steps again, she continued trying to bat them away, ordering them to release her. If she could just make it to the top of those steps...!

The vision in the corners of her eyes went blurry. She swallowed mouthfuls of air, exhaling heavy, rasping breaths. The pain burning throughout her shoulder was unlike any she had ever endured.

She heard a siren approaching. No! She had to make it to court. Her case!

Summoning strength from no place she knew of, she broke free of the two men, only to fall to her hands and knees. She would crawl if she had to... to defeat Phoenix Wright, to see him bow to her... she would crawl into the courthouse if she had to...!

The two men picked her up. Tears were pouring from her eyes now. No! Her voice cracked as she ordered them to put her down. Her legs flailed about, kicking for freedom. She passed from these men into the hands of two other men. What madness was this? Why wouldn't they release her?

She realized with horror that she was being loaded into an ambulance. She didn't have time for any ambulance. Her case! Her case was beginning! The case of the century! She screamed, kicked, clawed, writhed, and wriggled, but the two men overpowered her, forcing her to the bed. No!

This couldn't be happening. The courthouse! The courthouse was right there!

And then it wasn't. She watched the courthouse disappear - the steps, the columns, the mob, the entrance - all of it vanished as the ambulance doors slammed shut with a clang. It was gone.

Her case.

Her victory.

It was a bad dream.

A shrill, quivering scream left her, echoing off the metal walls of the ambulance.

* * *

><p>She didn't know what time it was. She guessed she had been staring at the hospital ceiling for close to an hour, but it could have been less - or more. She didn't care.<p>

Her right half was wrapped in bandages. The bullet had been surgically removed.

As had all hope for her case.

The quiet of her hospital room was suffocating. She had seen her little brother standing there, stone-faced as she was wheeled into surgery. She watched him disappear past the double doors. And right then, she knew. She knew where he would end up. Now, as she stared at the ceiling, she knew where he was.

In court.

Battling Phoenix Wright.

Earning her victory.

She should have been there.

And she was here. Simmering in her own contempt in a silent hospital room.

She could just kill something.

A knock on the doorway. Without turning her head, her eyes glanced at the entrance to the room.

That disgusting man was here again. An older man, with thinning, pink hair that almost resembled a mohawk. He had a pronounced jaw, narrow eyes and missing teeth that slurred his speech. He wore a white labcoat and a nametag and claimed to be the hospital director. She suspected he held no such position.

He had been to "check on her" more times than she cared to count. Each time, she could feel his gaze burning into her gown. Her breasts.

She poured extra malice into her voice as she asked why he was here.

He picked up the stethoscope around his neck and sheepishly asked to check her heartbeat.

A switch was flipped deep within her brain. No matter what position he held at this cesspool of a hospital, this vile man had crossed her path one too many times today. And he had picked the worst possible time to make another appearance.

She turned to face him and smiled. Of course he could check her heartbeat.

The man shuffled over to the bed, wearing a grin that made her stomach turn. He lowered his quivering hand to her chest, slipping the end of the stethoscope beneath her gown. She felt the cold metal touch her bare skin and smiled.

Then she took the stethoscope in her fist and pulled, hard. The "doctor" yelped in pain as he she yanked him within an inch of her face. With a devilish grimace, she voiced her disbelief that he was a real doctor.

She gave the stethoscope another good tug as she leaped out of bed. Her strength had returned to her now. A great shove bent the disgusting man over the mattress, and one powerful flip of his legs got his whole body into her bed. With one deft pull, the privacy curtain raced around its horseshoe-shaped track until it was closed completely around them. She stared daggers down at the quivering shell of a man that lay in her bed. Her lips curled into a smile that would have made the Grinch proud.

He was paralyzed with fear. She clawed his pants off, using them to tie one of his ankles to the bed. More confused than ever, the man seemed to shake off his paralysis and began attempting to undo the knot.

Oh, no, that simply wouldn't do. Franziska slammed her hand down onto the small, wheeled table that she had been served lunch on. Her fingers curled around her whip.

Crack! The director froze once more, his hand glued to the red mark on his face. He opened his mouth to scream.

That wouldn't do either.

Before he could produce any sound, Franziska jammed one of her hospital booties into the man's mouth. She forced it deep into his throat. She felt him beginning to choke.

Tears welled in his eyes. She bared her teeth once more. The terrified whimper of a beaten dog escaped him. She licked her lips.

She ripped his labcoat off of him. The bed was narrow enough that she was able to tie both of his hands to opposite corners of the bed with it.

Now there was just the matter of his left leg. Deciding that she'd rather keep her whip available, she pulled her gown over her shoulders, revealing her pale form - fully nude save for the bandages on her right side. To her delight, something stirred within his boxers. She tied her gown around his left ankle, tightly securing it to the bed's guardrail.

Whip in hand, she climbed onto the bed and pulled down his shorts. The man's eyes spoke of immeasurable fear.

His twitching penis said otherwise.

That's a good boy.

She lowered herself onto his semi-erect penis and immediately began to grind against it, her spine slithering like a snake. She built up a slow rhythm, feeling his member stiffen. She could tell he was still not at full capacity, however. As she pulled her whip taught between her fists, preparing to threaten him, she instead had to stifle a laugh.

He had already poured his seed into her.

What a pitiful excuse for a man.

Her pace increased tenfold, and she began to lobby curse words at him through clenched teeth. She took the collar of his shirt in her fist, shaking him, whipping him, telling him in a growling whisper that if he was a real man he would finish her off.

It became apparent that he was not a "real" man when, still half-erect, he ejaculated a second time not two minutes later.

Franziska was livid, but now there was nothing that could hold back her laughter. This was surely the worst sex she had ever had. Scruffy had been a pathetic, whimpering shell of a man, but he was well-equipped and had something resembling stamina. This was... this was just laughable.

She climbed off of him and untied her gown from his ankle, laughing all the while. She slipped back into the gown and set to work untying the rest of his restraints. When he was freed, he sheepishly dressed himself and attempted to push past the privacy curtain and escape. She took the collar of his labcoat in her fist, stopping him in his tracks. She warned him to never show his face in this room again. She cracked her whip against the small of his back and released him. He slithered off to parts unknown. She laughed to herself as she imagined him scurrying down the hall, bumping into things.

An amused sigh left Franziska and she plopped down onto the bed, the springs in the mattress creaking as she bounced into a comfortable position. She let out another sigh, this one more frustrated than amused. She had so been looking forward to getting her mind off of the string of injustices that had formed her day. With a glance at the privacy curtain still closed around her bed, and a glance at the fingers still curled around her whip, she unleashed a third sigh and hiked up her hospital gown.

The whip's handle slid into her like a seasoned pro; it certainly did see more action than most men. She purred as it made its entrance, spreading her thighs as wide as she possibly could. The slimy after-effects of Pinky's two orgasms spilled out of her as the handle pushed in deeper, dribbling onto the bedsheets.

A parade of thoughts danced through her head; the feel of the wood grain on her breasts as Scruffy plowed her in the closet, the feel of the carpet on her elbows as she pressed her pussy against Mia Fey's, the feel of Miles Edgeworth's hot member filling her behind...

She withdrew the handle of the whip, flipping it over, folding part of the cord against it. When it re-entered her, she was reminded of Ms. Adrian Andrews and how the whip had filled her then. How her labia had felt as they scraped against Adrian's. How she had felt as the blonde woman's nimble tongue had tended to her every need.

The whip was thoroughly slick with her juices now, pounding her as quickly and as mechanically as any self-respecting piston.

But just then, on the verge of climax, a strange image entered her head. It flashed in her mind for but a second, but it was unmistakable.

She was riding cowgirl, a stiff penis filling her completely, her hands splayed across a man's chest. This was a familiar view, and not one that would be strange to recall now. The strange part was the identity of the man attached to this particular penis.

Phoenix Wright?

As quickly as this scene had arrived, it was gone. No such image existed a second later as she released a hot gasp and climaxed.

She melted into the bed, dumbfounded. Him? Why him? Would she ever do such a thing?

A slow wave of realization washed over her. Yes... she would. She would enjoy it. Dominating that foolish fool of a man, the man who had shamed her family, would certainly be rewarding... and arousing.

As she pondered this scenario, grinning all throughout, it dawned on her that her hand was still moving, the slippery whip handle still plunging in and out of her.

She stopped for a moment, staring at the ceiling.

In the end, she decided there was no sense in stopping now. Her mind slowly reconstructed the image; his bare chest, her palms pressed against it, the look of anguished delight on his face... as the scene took shape, Franziska began adding details that weren't present the first time. His arms were spread as if hanging from a cross, each wrist chained to a corner of the bed. Blood filled his cheeks as he whispered, "Mistress..."

She brought herself to a speedy second orgasm as thoughts of that fool continued to dance through her head. But it was a hollow victory.

Right now, that very fool was in court, probably worming his way to a victory that she could have prevented.

A tiny voice in the back of her head spoke up, filling her with a tiny bit of resolve. Show me, then, Miles Edgeworth. Show me what you "have" that I don't. Show me how certain your victory really is.

The only thing that could take the sting out of this day would be watching Miles Edgeworth fail where she would have succeeded.

This thought gave her some comfort, and she smiled.


End file.
